


Broken Resolve

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor talks with a distraught Warden Alistair about his missing love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> This was terrible to write. I'm an awful person. Ugh. I want my poor children to be happy, yet I write such sad things for them!
> 
> My next story will be about how everyone goes to Disneyland and HAS FUN LOTS OF FUN AND THEY ONLY GET SAD BECAUSE THEY HAVE TOO MUCH FUN AND HAVE TO GO HOME.

Skyhold keep was empty. Its grand hall dark and silent, lit only by a few guttering candles that sputtered weakly in the twilight hours. The Inquisitor peeked from her door, ensuring she would not meet with leftover nobles, chatty and grabby with drink. Seeing the hall empty and unkempt she slipped forward, letting the door click shut behind her. The great stained glass windows behind the raised dais were dark, casting blue shadows in the waning candlelight.

Talia crept forward on light feet. She was the Inquisitor, the leader of armies thousands of men strong, she had no reason to sneak around her own fortress. And yet she still felt the chill of the night, eyes on her back; the risk of being caught just around the corner.

She slowed as she reached the last bank of tables lining the walls of the receiving hall. At the end of the table sat the Warden, Alistair. He was staring down into a mug held tightly in his lap. Was he asleep or just deep in thought? Several plates of food sat untouched, crowding the table in front of him. He didn’t look up as she slipped into a chair beside him.

She had heard tales of the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair while living in the Circle. The Hero was a mage, after all. The stories always mentioned his friendly, joking nature, but she had seen only brief glimpses of that side of him. Now he spoke only in soft distant tones or adamant statements.

“Alistair?” She asked softly, unsure if he had heard her approach. The Warden did not look up, but his fingers flexed tighter around the mug. “Are you alright?”

He was silent, but she could see his throat move, as if he was swallowing down something distasteful. After a moment he drew in a long ragged breath and lifted his eyes to hers. They were red, exhausted and held such a haunted look she nearly pulled back.

“I…” he swallowed thickly, shifting his gaze back down into the contents of the mug. “It was just a nightmare.” He spoke so softly she strained to hear.

Talia pulled her chair a little closer, nodding in understanding. She had a feeling the remorse in his eyes was not about a nightmare. “I have those too sometimes.” He took another slow, steadying breath and set the cup on the table in front of them.

“During the Blights, Grey Wardens get awful dreams that link them to the archdemon.” Alistair reached out and picked up a carafe heavy with a dark wine. He refilled his mug and poured a matching cup for her. “Astaria..” he sighed deeply and took a long drink, settling back into his chair. “Before she became the Hero of Ferelden, had terrible nightmares during the Fifth Blight. We could sometimes scarcely wake her from them.”

Talia listened silently, watching his tired eyes grow remote and wistful as he spoke of his distant love. “We never knew why, if it was because she was a mage or because she joined during a Blight.” He gave her a faint half grin, a weak thing that allowed her just a momentary glimpse of the Alistair from the stories. “Or maybe the archdemon just really liked her.” He stared back down into the sloshing wine for so long she wasn’t sure if he was going to continue.

“It’s happening again. And I’m not there,” he finally whispered, voice breaking on the final word. Talia reached out and slipped her hand into his. She squeezed it lightly as a smothered sob broke through his resolve. A solitary tear traced its way down to his jaw. He set the mug aside and scrubbed across his face with the back of his fist. She clasped both of her smaller hands over his, leaning forward earnestly.

“You’ll see her again soon, Alistair. We’ll get to Adamant and set this right. Then you’ll be with her again.” She knew better than to make promises, but she couldn’t sit by and merely witness his grief. He smiled at her, distant and sad, the smile not quite fully reaching his eyes and returned the squeeze of her hand.

They sat a moment in silent solace, hands clasped together. Talia inwardly fretted, wishing she could do more for him. She knew her small words had done little to allay his fears. While she commanded enough armies of men and resources to frighten most of Thedas, she could not bring these two people back to each other. Finally, Alistair broke away, reaching out for his mug of wine and quickly finishing it.

“I should get some sleep.” He stood and gave her hair a light ruffle. She smirked up at him and flicked her bangs away from her eyes.

“Goodnight, Alistair.” He returned the smirk briefly, but paused at her side, regarding her with a sudden unreadable expression. His hand fell to rest on her shoulder and she peered up at him cautiously.

“Don’t waste the time you have. He’s a good man.” Her gaze quickly fixated on the floor, her cheeks burning hotly. The Commander. Cullen. There was no need to ask for clarification on his meaning. Maker, Alistair had only been at Skyhold for a short time and he already knew of her ill-advised infatuation with the man. So much for thinking she had buried her feelings and hid her interest from the world.

She nodded once in response, her face still such an embarrassed shade of red she dare not look up. She felt as if her magic had set her on fire. Alistair gave her shoulder a light pat before he left without another word.

Talia squeezed her hands together in her lap. She had spent so long building up her walls, telling herself she could and should do without, that her life was one meant for duty and sacrifice. How long had the Circle reminded her that she was different as a mage; that she had to earn her way into the Makers grace. She thought she had found that atonement in the anchor on her hand and was prepared to make the sacrifices needed.

She couldn’t help but admire the obvious love Alistair held for the Hero of Ferelden. His loneliness and sorrow at being apart from her ate at her resolution. What if he was right? What if they were doomed? Shouldn’t she spend her remaining time finding some measure of happiness? But what if they were doomed because she chose to be selfish? Her mind grew fuzzy and woolen, turning circles on itself.

The Inquisitor stood and made her way back to her room slowly, no longer concerned with the shadows of the night, her errant stargazing forgotten. She had much to consider now.


End file.
